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UNITED STATES OF AMERKjA. 



THE 

DEATH OF CENONE, 
AKBAR'S DREAM, 

AND OTHER POEMS 



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THE 

DEATH OF CENONE, 
AKBAR'S DREAM, 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



al/red 



LORD*^ENNYSON 



POET LAUREATE 



Wcto gorft 
MACMILLAN AND CO. 

AND LONDON 
1892 

All rights reserved 



h 






Copyright, 1892, 
By MACMILLAN AND CO. 



SOO copies of this edition were printed on hand-made paper, 
October, iSga. 



Typography by J. S. Cushing & Co., Boston, U.S.A. 
Presswork by Berwick & Smith, Boston, U.S.A. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

June Bracken and Heather i 

To THE Master of Balliol 3 

The Death of CEnone 5 

St. Telemachus 15 

Akbar's Dream 23 

The Bandit's Death 47 

The Church-warden and the Curate • • • 55 

Charity 67 

Kapiolani 77 

The Dawn 81 

The Making of Man 85 

The Dreamer 87 

Mechanophilus 90 

Riflemen form! 93 

V 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Tourney 96 

The Bee and the Flower 98 

The Wanderer 100 

Poets and Critics 102 

A Voice spake out of the Skies .... 104 

Doubt and Prayer 105 

Faith 107 

The Silent Voices 109 

God and the Universe no 

The Death of the Duke of Clarence and Avon- 
dale 112 



JUNE BRACKEN AND HEATHER 

To 

There on the top of the down, 

The wild heather round me and over me June's 

high blue, 
When I look'd at the bracken so bright and the 

heather so brown, 
I thought to myself I would offer this book to 

you, 
This, and my love together, 
To you that are seventy-seven. 



2 yUNE BRACKEN AND HEATHER 

With a faith as clear as the heights of the June- 
blue heaven, 

And a fancy as summer-new 

As the green of the bracken amid the gloom of 
the heather. 



TO THE MASTER OF BALLIOL 

I 

Dear Master in our classic town, 
You, loved by all the younger gown 

There at Balliol, 
Lay your Plato for one minute down, 

n 

And read a Grecian tale re-told. 
Which, cast in later Grecian mould, 

Quintus Calaber 
Somewhat lazily handled of old; 



TO THE MASTER OF BALLIOL 
III 
And on this white midwinter day — 
For have the far-off hymns of May, 

All her melodies, 
All her harmonies echo'd away ? — 

rv 
To-day, before you turn again 
To thoughts that hft the soul of men. 

Hear my cataract's 
Downward thunder in hollow and glen, 



Till, led by dream and vague desire, 
The woman, gliding toward the pyre, 

Find her warrior 
Stark and dark in his funeral fire. 



THE DEATH OF CENONE 



THE DEATH OF CENONE 

CEnone sat within the cave from out 
Whose ivy-matted mouth she used to gaze 
Down at the Troad ; but the goodly view 
Was now one blank, and all the serpent vines 
Which on the touch of heavenly feet had risen, 
And gliding thro' the branches overbower'd 
The naked Three, were wither 'd long ago, 
And thro' the sunless winter morning-mist 
In silence wept upon the flowerless earth. 

And while she stared at those dead cords that 
ran 



8 THE DEATH OF (EN ONE 

Dark thro' the mist, and linking tree to tree, 
But once were gayer than a dawning sky 
With many a pendent bell and fragrant star, 
Her Past became her Present, and she saw 
Him, climbing toward her with the golden fruit. 
Him, happy to be chosen Judge of Gods, 
Her husband in the flush of youth and dawn, 
Paris, himself as beauteous as a God. 

Anon from out the long ravine below. 
She heard a wailing cry, that seem'd at first 
Thin as the batlike shrillings of the Dead 
When driven to Hades, but, in coming near, 
Across the downward thunder of the brook 
Sounded * CEnone ' ; and on a sudden he, 
Paris, no longer beauteous as a God, 
Struck by a poison'd arrow in the fight. 
Lame, crooked, reeling, livid, thro' the mist 



THE DEATH OF (EIVONE 9 

Rose, like the wraith of his dead self, and moan'd 

* CEnone, my CEnone, while we dwelt 
Together in this valley — happy then — 
Too happy had I died within thine arms. 
Before the feud of Gods had marr'd our peace. 
And sunder'd each from each. I am dying now 
Pierced by a poison'd dart. Save me. Thou 

knowest, 
Taught by some God, whatever herb or balm 
May clear the blood from poison, and thy fame 
Is blown thro' all the Troad, and to thee 
The shepherd brings his adder-bitten lamb, 
The wounded warrior climbs from Troy to thee. 
My life and death are in thy hand. The Gods 
Avenge on stony hearts a fruitless prayer 
For pity. Let me owe my life to thee. 
I wrought thee bitter wrong, but thou forgive, 



lo THE DEATH OF (ENONE 

Forget it. Man is but the slave of Fate. 
CEnone, by thy love which once was mine, 
Help, heal me. I am poison'd to the heart.' 
* And I to mine ' she said * Adulterer, 
Go back to thine adulteress and die ! ' 

He groan'd, he turn'd, and in the mist at once 
Became a shadow, sank and disappear'd, 
But, ere the mountain rolls into the plain. 
Fell headlong dead ; and of the shepherds one 
Their oldest, and the same who first had found 
Paris, a naked babe, among the woods 
Of Ida, following lighted on him there. 
And shouted, and the shepherds heard and came. 

One raised the Prince, one sleek'd the squalid 
hair. 
One kiss'd his hand, another closed his eyes. 
And then, remembering the gay playmate rear'd 



THE DEA Til OF (EN ONE 1 1 

Among them, and forgetful of the man, 
Whose crime had half unpeopled Ilion, these 
All that day long labour'd, hewing the pines. 
And built their shepherd-prince a funeral pile ; 
And, while the star of eve was drawing light 
From the dead sun, kindled the pyre, and all 
Stood round it, hush'd, or calling on his name. 
But when the white fog vanish'd like a ghost 
Before the day, and every topmost pine 
Spired into bluest heaven, still in her cave. 
Amazed, and ever seeming stared upon 
By ghastlier than the Gorgon head, a face, — 
His face deform'd by lurid blotch and blain — 
There, like a creature frozen to the heart 
Beyond all hope of warmth, CEnone sat 
Not moving, till in front of that ravine 
Which drowsed in gloom, self-darken'd from the west, 



12 THE DEATH OF CENONE 

The sunset blazed along the wall of Troy. 

Then her head sank, she slept, and thro' her 
dream 
A ghostly murmur floated, ' Come to me, 
(Enone ! I can wrong thee now no more, 
QEnone, my Q^none,' and the dream 
Wail'd in her, when she woke beneath the stars. 

What star could burn so low? not Dion yet. 
What light was there? She rose and slowly down, 
By the long torrent's ever-deepen'd roar, 
Paced, following, as in trance, the silent cry. 
She waked a bird of prey that scream'd and past \ 
She roused a snake that hissing writhed away ; 
A panther sprang across her path, she heard 
The shriek of some lost life among the pines, 
But when she gain'd the broader vale, and saw 
The ring of faces redden'd by the flames 



THE DEATH OF CENONE 13 

Enfolding that dark body which had lain 

Of old in her embrace, paused — and then ask'd 

Falteringly, ' Who lies on yonder pyre ? ' 

But every man was mute for reverence. 

Then moving quickly forward till the heat 

Smote on her brow, she lifted up a voice 

Of shrill command, 'Who burns upon the pyre?' 

Whereon their oldest and their boldest said, 

* He, whom thou wouldst not heal ! ' and all at 

once 
The morning light of happy marriage broke 
Thro' all the clouded years of widowhood, 
And muffling up her comely head, and crying 
' Husband ! ' she leapt upon the funeral pile, 
And mixt herself with him and past in fire. 



ST. TELEMACHUS 



ST. TELEMACHUS 

Had the fierce ashes of some fiery peak 
Been hurl'd so high they ranged about the globe? 
For day by day, thro' many a blood-red eve, 
In that four-hundredth summer after Christ, 
The wrathful sunset glared against a cross 
Rear'd on the tumbled ruins of an old fane 
No longer sacred to the Sun, and flamed 
On one huge slope beyond, where in his cave 
The man, whose pious hand had built the cross, 
A man who never changed a word with men, 
Fasted and pray'd, Telemachus the Saint. 

17 



|8 Sr. TELEMACHUS 

Eve after eve that haggard anchorite 
Would haunt the desolated fane, and there 
Gaze at the ruin, often mutter low 
* Vicisti Galilaee ' ; louder again, 
Spurning a shatter'd fragment of the God, 
' Vicisti Galilaee ! ' but — when now 
Bathed in that lurid crimson — ask'd ' Is earth 
On fire to the West? or is the Demon-god 
Wroth at his fall?' and heard an answer 'Wake 
Thou deedless dreamer, lazying out a life 
Of self-suppression, not of selfless love.' 
And once a flight of shadowy fighters crost 
The disk, and once, he thought, a shape with 

wings 
Came sweeping by him, and pointed to the West, 
And at his ear he heard a whisper ' Rome ' 
And in his heart he cried ' The call of God ! ' 



ST. TELEMACHUS 19 

And call'd arose, and, slowly plunging down 
Thro' that disastrous glory, set his face 
By waste and field and town of alien tongue, 
Following a hundred sunsets, and the sphere 
Of westward-wheeling stars ; and every dawn 
Struck from him his own shadow on to Rome. 

Foot-sore, way-worn, at length he touch'd his goal, 
The Christian city. All her splendour fail'd 
To lure those eyes that only yearn'd to see, 
Fleeting betwixt her column'd palace-walls. 
The shape with wings. Anon there past a crowd 
With shameless laughter, Pagan oath, and jest, 
Hard Romans brawling of their monstrous games ; 
He, all but deaf thro' age and weariness, 
And muttering to himself 'The call of God' 
And borne along by that full stream of men. 
Like some old wreck on some indrawing sea. 



20 ST. TELEMACHUS 

Gain'd their huge Colosseum. The caged beast 
Yell'd, as he yell'd of yore for Christian blood. 
Three slaves were trailing a dead lion away, 
One, a dead man. He stumbled in, and sat 
Blinded ; but when the momentary gloom. 
Made by the noonday blaze without, had left 
His aged eyes, he raised them, and beheld 
A blood-red awning waver overhead, 
The dust send up a steam of human blood. 
The gladiators moving toward their fight, 
And eighty thousand Christian faces watch 
Man murder man. A sudden strength from 

heaven, 
As some great shock may wake a palsied limb, 
Turn'd him again to boy, for up he sprang. 
And glided lightly down the stairs, and o'er 
The barrier that divided beast from man 



ST. TELEMACHUS 21 

Slipt, and ran on, and flung himself between 

The gladiatorial swords, and call'd ' Forbear 

In the great name of Him who died for men, 

Christ Jesus ! ' For one moment afterward 

A silence follow'd as of death, and then 

A hiss as from a wilderness of snakes, 

Then one deep roar as of a breaking sea, 

And then a shower of stones that stoned him 

dead, 
And then once more a silence as of death. 

His dream became a deed that woke the world, 
For while the frantic rabble in half-amaze 
Stared at him dead, thro' all the nobler hearts 
In that vast Oval ran a shudder of shame. 
The Baths, the Forum gabbled of his death, 
And preachers linger'd o'er his dying words, 
Which would not die, but echo'd on to reach 



22 ST. TELEMACHUS 

Honorius, till he heard them, and decreed 

That Rome no more should wallow in this old lust 

Of Paganism, and make her festal hour 

Dark with the blood of man who murder'd man. 



(For Honorius, who succeeded to the sovereignty over 
Europe, supprest the gladiatorial combats practised of old 
in Rome, on occasion of the following event. There was 
one Telemachus, embracing the ascetic mode of life, who 
setting out from the East and arriving at Rome for this 
very purpose, while that accursed spectacle was being per- 
formed, entered himself the circus, and descending into the 
arena, attempted to hold back those who wielded deadly 
weapons against each other. The spectators of the murder- 
ous fray, possest with the drunken glee of the demon who 
delights in such bloodshed, stoned to death the preacher of 
peace. The admirable Emperor learning this put a stop to 
that evil exhibition. — Theodoret's Ecclesiastical History?) 



AKBAR'S DREAM 



AKBAR'S DREAM 

An Inscription by Abul Fazl for a Temple in 
Kashmir (Blochmann xxxii.) 

O God in every temple I see people that see thee, 
and in every language I hear spoken, people praise thee. 

Polytheism and Isldm feel after thee. 

Each religion says, * Thou art one, without equal.' 

If it be a mosque people murmur the holy prayer, and 
if it be a Christian Church, people ring the bell from 
love to Thee. 

Sometimes I frequent the Christian cloister, and some- 
times the mosque. 

But it is thou whom I search from temple to temple. 

Thy elect have no dealings with either heresy or 
orthodoxy ; for neither of them stands behind the screen 
of thy truth. 

Heresy to the heretic, and religion to the orthodox, 

25 



26 AK BAR'S DREAM 

But the dust of the rose-petal belongs to the heart of 
the perfume seller. 

Akbar and Abul Fazl before the palace at 
Futehpur-Sikri at night. 

' Light of the nations ' ask'd his Chronicler 

Of Akbar 'what has darken'd tliee to-night?' 

Then, after one quick glance upon the stars, 

And turning slowly toward him, Akbar said 

' The shadow of a dream — an idle one 

It may be. Still I raised my heart to heaven, 

I pray'd against the dream. To pray, to do — 

To pray, to do according to the prayer, 

Are, both, to worship Alia, but the prayers. 

That have no successor in deed, are faint 

And pale in Alla's eyes, fair mothers they 

Dying in childbirth of dead sons. I vow'd 

Whate'er my dreams, I still would do the right 



AKByiR'S DREAM 

Thro' all the vast dominion which a sword, 
That only conquers men to conquer peace, 
Has won me. Alia be my guide ! 

But come, 
My noble friend, my faithful counsellor, 
Sit by my side. While thou art one with me, 
I seem no longer like a lonely man 
In the king's garden, gathering here and there 
From each fair plant the blossom choicest-grown 
To wreathe a crown not only for the king 
But in due time for every Mussulman, 
Brahmin, and Buddhist, Christian, and Parsee, 
Thro' all the warring world of Hindustan. 

Well spake tliy brother in his hymn to heaven 
"Thy glory baffles wisdom. All the tracks 
Of science making toward Thy Perfectness 
Are blinding desert sand ; we scarce can spell 



28 AK BAR'S DREAM 

The Alif of Thine Alphabet of Love." 

He knows Himself, men nor themselves nor 
Him, 
For every splinter'd fraction of a sect 
Will clamour " / am on the Perfect Way, 
All else is to perdition." 

Shall the rose 
Cry to the lotus "No flower thou"? the palm 
Call to the cypress "I alone am foir"? 
The mango spurn the melon at his foot? 
" Mine is the one fruit Alia made for man." 

Look how the living pulse of Alia beats 
Thro' all His world. If every single star 
Should shriek its claim " I only am in heaven " 
Why that were such sphere-music as the Greek 
Had hardly dream'd of. There is light in all, 
And light, with more or less of shade, in all 



AKJ^AR'S DREAM 29 

Man-modes of worship ; but our Ulama, 
Who " sitting on green sofas contemplate 
The torment of the damn'd " already, these 
Are like wild brutes new-caged — the narrower 
The cage, the more their fury. Me they front 
With sullen brows. What wonder ! I decreed 
That even the dog was clean, that men may taste 
Swine-flesh, drink wine ; they know too that when- 
e'er 
In our free Hall, where each philosophy 
And mood of faith may hold its own, they blurt 
Their furious formalisms, I but hear 
The clash of tides that meet in narrow seas, — 
Not the Great Voice not the true Deep. 

To drive 
A people from their ancient fold of Faith, 
And wall them up perforce in mine — unwise. 



30 A K BAR'S DREAM 

Unkinglike ; — and the morning of my reign 

Was redden'd by that cloud of shame when I . . . 

I hate the rancour of their castes and creeds, 
I let men worship as they will, I reap 
No revenue from the field of unbelief. 
I cull from every faith and race the best 
And bravest soul for counsellor and friend. 
I loathe the very name of infidel. 
I stagger at the Koran and the sword. 
I shudder at the Christian and the stake ; 
Yet "Alia," says their sacred book, "is Love," 
And when the Goan Padre quoting Him, 
Issa Ben Mariam, his own prophet, cried 
" Love one another little ones " and " bless " 
Whom ? even " your persecutors " ! there methought 
The cloud was rifted by a purer gleam 
Than glances from the sun of our Islam. 



AK BAR'S DREAM 31 

And thou rememberest what a fury shook 
Those pillars of a moulder'd faith, when he, 
That other, prophet of their fall, proclaimed 
His Master as " the Sun of Righteousness," 
Yea, Alia here on earth, who caught and held 
His people by the bridle-rein of Truth. 

What art thou saying? "And was not Alia call'd 
In old Iran the Sun of Love? and Love 
The net of truth?" 

A voice from old Iran ! 
Nay, but I know it — his, the hoary Sheik, 
On whom the women shrieking "Atheist" flung 
Filth from the roof, the mystic melodist 
Who all but lost himself in Alia, him 

Abfi Said 

— a sun but dimly seen 
Here, till the mortal morning mists of earth 



3i AK BAR'S DREAM 

Fade in the noon of heaven, when creed and race 
Shall bear false witness, each of each, no more, 
But find their limits by that larger light, 
And overstep them, moving easily 
Thro' after-ages in the love of Truth, 
The truth of Love. 

The sun, the sun ! they rail 
At me the Zoroastrian. Let the Sun, 
Who heats our earth to yield us grain and fruit, 
And laughs upon thy field as well as mine. 
And warms the blood of Shiah and Sunnee, 
Symbol the Eternal ! Yea and may not kings 
Express Him also by their warmth of love 
For all they rule — by equal law for all? 
By deeds a light to men? 

But no such light 
Glanced from our Presence on the face of one. 



AKBAR'S DREAM 33 

Who breaking in upon us yestermom, 

With all the Hells a-glare in either eye, 

Yell'd " hast /hou brought us down a new Koran 

From heaven? art thou the Prophet? canst fhou 

work 
Miracles?" and the wild horse, anger, plunged 
To fling me, and fail'd. Miracles ! no, not I 
Nor he, nor any. I can but lift the torch 
Of Reason in the dusky cave of Life, 
And gaze on this great miracle, the World, 
Adoring That who made, and makes, and is. 
And is not, what I gaze on — all else Form, 
Ritual, varying with the tribes of men. 

Ay but, my friend, thou knowest I hold that 

forms 
Are needful : only let the hand that rules. 
With politic care, with utter gentleness, 



34 AK BAR'S DREAM 

Mould them for all his people. 

And what are forms? 
Fair garments, plain or rich, and fitting close 
Or flying looselier, Avarm'd but by the heart 
Within them, moved but by the living limb, 
And cast aside, when old, for newer, — Forms ! 
The Spiritual in Nature's market-place — 
The silent Alphabet-of-heaven-in-man 
Made vocal — banners blazoning a Power 
That is not seen and rules from far away — 
A silken cord let down from Paradise, 
When fine Philosophies would foil, to draw 
The crowd from wallowing in the mire of earth. 
And all the more, when these behold their Lord, 
Who shaped the forms, obey them, and himself 
Here on this bank in sovie way live the life 
Beyond the bridge, and serve that Infinite 



AK BAR'S DREAM 35 

Within us, as without, that All-in-all, 

And over all, the never-changing One 

And ever-changing Many, in praise of Whom 

The Christian bell, the cry from off the mosque. 

And vaguer voices of Polytheism 

Make but one music, harmonising, " Pray." 

There westward — under yon slow-falling star. 
The Christians own a Spiritual Head ; 
And following thy true counsel, by thine aid, 
Myself am such in our Islam, for no 
Mirage of glory, but for power to fuse 
My myriads into union under one ; 
To hunt the tiger of oppression out 
From office ; and to spread the Divine Faith 
Like calming oil on all their stormy creeds. 
And fill the hollows between wave and wave ; 
To nurse my children on the milk of Truth, 



36 AK BAR'S DREAM 

And alchemise old hates into the gold 
Of Love, and make it current ; and beat back 
The menacing poison of intolerant priests, 
Those cobras ever setting up their hoods — 
One Alia ! one Kalifa ! 

Still — at times 
A doubt, a fear, — and yester afternoon 
I dream'd, — thou knowest how deep a well of 

love 
My heart is for my son, Saleem, mine heir, — 
And yet so wild and wayward that my dream — 
He glares askance at thee as one of those 
Who mix the wines of heresy in the cup 

Of counsel — so — I pray thee 

Well, I dream'd 
That stone by stone I rear'd a sacred fane, 
A temple, neither Pagod, Mosque, nor Church, 



AK^AR'S DREAM 37 

But loftier, simpler, always open-door'd 
To every breath from heaven, and Truth and Peace 
And Love and Justice came and dwelt therein ; 
But while we stood rejoicing, I and thou, 
I heard a mocking laugh " the new Koran ! " 
And on the sudden, and with a cry " Saleem " 
Thou, thou — I saw thee fall before me, and then 
Me too the black-wing'd Azrael overcame. 
But Death had ears and eyes ; I watch'd my son, 
And those that foUow'd, loosen, stone from stone, 
All my fair work ; and from the ruin arose 
The shriek and curse of trampled millions, even 
As in the time before ; but while I groan'd, 
From out the sunset pour'd an alien race. 
Who fitted stone to stone again, and Truth, 
Peace, Love and Justice came and dwelt therein, 
Nor in the field without were seen or heard 



38 AKBAR'S DREAM 

Fires of Suttee, nor wail of baby-\vife, 

Or Indian widow; and in sleep I said 

"All praise to Alia by whatever hands 

My mission be accomplish'd ! " but we hear 

Music : our palace is awake, and morn 

Has lifted the dark eyelash of the Night 

From off the rosy cheek of waking Day. 

Our hymn to the sun. They sing it. Let us go.' 



Hymn 



Once again thou flamest heavenward, once again 

we see thee rise. 
Every morning is thy birthday gladdening human 

hearts and eves. 



AK^AR'S DREAM 39 

Every morning here we greet it, bowing 
lowly down before thee, 
Thee the Godlike, thee the changeless in thine 
ever-changing skies. 



Shadow-maker, shadow-slayer, arrowing light from 

clime to clime. 
Hear thy myriad laureates hail thee monarch in 
their woodland rhyme. 

Warble bird, and open flower, and, men, 
below the dome of azure 
Kneel adoring Him the Timeless in the flame that 
measures Time ! 



NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM 

The great Mogul Emperor Akbar was born October 14, 1542, 
and died 1605. At 13 he succeeded his father Humayun; at 
18 he himself assumed the sole charge of government. He 
subdued and ruled over fifteen large provinces; his empire 
included all India north of the Vindhya Mountains — in the 
south of India he was not so successful. His tolerance of 
religions and his abhorrence of religious persecution put our 
Tudors to shame. He invented a new eclectic religion by 
which he hoped to unite all creeds, castes and peoples : and 
his legislation was remarkable for vigour, justice and humanity. 

* Thy glory baffles wisdom.'' The Emperor quotes from a 

hymn to the Deity by Faizi, brother of Abul Fazl, Akbar's chief 

friend and minister, who wrote the Ain i Akbari (Annals of 

Akbar). His influence on his age was immense. It may be 

that he and his brother Faizi led Akbar's mind away from 
40 



NOTES TQ AKBAR'S DREAM 41 

Islam and the Prophet — this charge is brought against him 
by every Muhammadan writer; but Abul P'azl also led his 
sovereign to a true appreciation of his duties, and from 
the moment that he entered Court, the problem of success- 
fully ruling over mixed races, which Islam in few other 
countries had to solve, was carefully considered, and the 
policy of toleration was the result (Blochmann xxix.) 

Abul Fazl thus gives an account of himself 'The advice of 
my Father with difficulty kept me back from acts of folly; 
my mind had no rest and my heart felt itself drawn to the 
sages of Mongolia or to the hermits on Lebanon. I longed 
for interviews with the Llamas of Tibet or with the padres 
of Portugal, and I would gladly sit with the priests of the 
Parsis and the learned of the Zendavesta. I was sick of the 
learned of my own land.' 

He became the intimate friend and adviser of Akbar, and 
helped him in his tolerant system of government. Professor 
Blochmann writes * Impressed with a favourable idea of the 
value of his Hindu subjects, he (Akbar) had resolved when 
pensively sitting in the evenings on the solitary stone at 
Futehpur-Sikri to rule with an even hand all men in his 
dominions; but as the extreme views of the learned and 
the lawyers continually urged him to persecute instead of 
to heal, he instituted discussions, because, believing him- 
self to be in error, he thought it his duty as ruler to 
inquire.' ' These discussions took place every Thursday night 
in the Ibadat-khana a building at Futehpur-Sikri, erected for 
the purpose' (Malleson). 



42 NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM 

In these discussions Abul Fazl became a great power, and 
he induced the chief of the disputants to draw up a docu- 
ment defining the ' divine Faith ' as it was called, and assign- 
ing to Akbar the rank of a Mujahid, or supreme khalifah, the 
vicegerent of the one true God. 

Abul Fazl was finally murdered at the instigation of Akbar's 
son Salim, who in his Memoirs declares that it was Abul 
Fazl who had perverted his father's mind so that he denied 
the divine mission of Mahomet, and turned away his love 
from his son. 

Faizi. When Akbar conquered the North-West Provinces 
of India, Faizi, then 20, began his life as a poet, and earned 
his living as a physician. He is reported to have been very 
generous and to have treated the poor for nothing. His 
fame reached Akbar's ears who commanded him to come to 
the camp at Chitor. Akbar was delighted with his varied 
knowledge and scholarship and made the poet teacher to his 
sons. Faizi at 33 was appointed Chief Poet (1588). He 
collected a fine library of 4300 MSS. and died at the age of 
40 (1595) when Akbar incorporated his collection of rare 
books in the Imperial Library. 

The Warring World of Himiostan. Akbar's rapid con- 
quests and the good government of his fifteen provinces with 
their complete military, civil and political systems make hira 
conspicuous among the great kings of history. 

The Goan Padre. Abul Fazl relates that * one night the 



NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM 43 

Ibadat-kliana was brightened by the presence of Padre Ro- 
dolpho, who for intelligence and wisdom was unrivalled 
among Christian doctors. Several carping and bigoted men 
attacked him and this afforded an opportunity for the dis- 
play of the calm judgment and justice of the assembly. 
These men brought forward the old received assertions, and 
did not attempt to arrive at truth by reasoning. Their 
statements were torn to pieces, and they were nearly put to 
shame, when they began to attack the contradictions of the 
Gospel, but they could not prove their assertions. With per- 
fect calmness, and earnest conviction of the truth he replied 
to their arguments.' 

AbA Sa'ld. ' Love is the net of Truth, Love is the noose 
of God ' is a quotation from the great Sufee poet Abd Sa'ld 
— born A.D. 968, died at the age of 83. He is a mystical 
poet, and some of his expressions have been compared to our 
George Herbert. Of Shaikh Abfl Sa'ld it is recorded that 
he said, ' when my affairs had reacht a certain pitch I buried 
under the dust my books and opened a shop on my own 
account {i.e. began to teach with authority), and verily men 
represented mc as that which I was not, until it came to this, 
that they went to the Qadhi and testified against me of unbe- 
lieverhood; and women got upon the roofs and cast unclean 
things upon me.' ( Vide reprint from article in National 
Review, March, 1891, by C. J. Pickering.) 

Aziz. I am not aware that there is any record of such 



44 NOTES ro AK BAR'S DREAM 

intrusion upon the king's privacy, but the expressions in 
the text occur in a letter sent by Akbar's foster-brother 
Aziz, who refused to come to court when summoned and 
threw up his government, and ' after writing an insolent and 
reproachful letter to Akbar in which he asked him if he had 
received a book from heaven, or if he could work miracles 
like Mahomet that he presumed to introduce a new religion, 
warned him that he was on the way to eternal perdition, and 
concluded with a prayer to God to bring him back into the 
path of salvation' (Elphinstone). 

'The Koran, the Old and New Testament, and the Psalms 
of David are called hooks by way of excellence, and their 
followers "People of the Book"' (Elphinstone). 

Akbar according to Abdel Kadir had his son Murad 
instructed in the Gospel, and used to make him begin his 
lessons ' In the name of Christ ' instead of in the usual way 
'In the name of God.' 

To drive 
A people from their ancient fold of Truth, etc. 

Malleson says * This must have happened because Akbar 
states it, but of the forced conversions I have found no 
record. This must have taken place whilst he was still a 
minor, and whilst the chief authority was wielded by Bairam.' 

' / reap no revenue from the field of unbelief. ' 
The Hindus are fond of pilgrimages, and Akbar removed 



NOTES TD AK BAR'S DREAM 45 

a remunerative tax raised by his predecessors on pilgrimages. 
He also abolished the fezza or capitation tax on those who 
differed from the Mahomedan faith. He discouraged all 
excessive prayers, fasts and pilgrimages. 

Sati. Akbar decreed that every widow who showed the 
least desire not to be burnt on her husband's funeral pyre, 
should be let go free and unharmed. 

Baby-wife. ?Ie forbad marriage before the age of puberty. 

Indian widow. Akbar ordained that remarriage was 
lawful. 

Music. ' About a watch before daybreak,' says Abul Fazl, 
the musicians played to the king in the palace. ' His Majesty 
had such a knowledge of the science of music as trained 
musicians do not possess.' 

' TAe Divine Faith.' The Divine Faith slowly passed 
away under the immediate successors of Akbar. An idea 
of what the Divine Faith was may be gathered from the 
inscription at the head of the poem. The document referred 
to, Abul Fazl says 'brought about excellent results (i) the 
Court became a gathering place of the sages and learned of 
all creeds; the good doctrines of all religious systems were 
recognized, and their defects were not allowed to obscure 
their good features; (2) perfect toleration or peace with all 



46 NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM 

was established; and (3) the perverse and evil-minded were 
covered with shame on seeing the disinterested motives of 
His Majesty, and these stood in the pillory of disgrace.' 
Dated September 1579 — Ragab 987 (Blochmann xiv.) 



THE BANDIT'S DEATH 



TO SIR WALTER SCOTT* 

o great and gallant scott, 

True gentleman heart, blood and bone, 

i would it had been my lot 

to have seen thee, and heard thee, and known. 



^ I have adopted Sir Walter Scott's version of the following 
story as given in liis last journal (Death of II Bizarro) — but I 
have taken the liberty of making some slight alterations. 



THE BANDIT'S DEATH 

Sir, do you see this dagger? nay, why do you start 

aside ? 
I was not going to stab you, tho' I am the Bandit's 

bride. 

You have set a price on his head : I may claim it 

without a lie. 
What have I here in the cloth? I will show it 

you by-and-by. 

Sir, I was once a wife. I had one brief summer 

of bliss 

49 



so THE BANDITS DEATH 

But the Bandit had woo'd me in vain, and he 
stabb'd my Piero with this. 

And he dragg'd me up there to his cave in the 

mountain, and there one day 
He had left his dagger behind him. I found it. 

I hid it away. 

For he reek'd with the blood of Piero ; his kisses 

were red with his crime, 
And I cried to the Saints to avenge me. They 

heard, they bided their time. 

In a while I bore him a son, and he loved to 

dandle the child, 
And that was a link between us ; but I — to be 

reconciled ? — 



THE BANDIT'S DEATH 51 

No, by the Mother of God, tho' I think 1 hated 

him less, 
And — well, if I sinn'd last night, I will find the 

Priest and confess. 

Listen ! we three were alone in the dell at the 

close of the day. 
I was lilting a song to the babe, and it laugh'd like 

a dawn in May. 

Then on a sudden we saw your soldiers crossing 

the ridge. 
And he caught my little one from me : we dipt 

down under the bridge 

By the great dead pine — you know it — and heard, 
as we crouch'd below, 



5* THE BANDIT'S DEATH 

The clatter of arms, and voices, and men passing 
to and fro. 

Black was the night when we crept away — not a 

star in the sky — 
Hush'd as the heart of the grave, till the little one 

utter'd a cry. 

I whisper'd 'give it to me,' but he would not 

answer me — then 
He gript it so hard by the throat that the boy 

never cried again. 

We return'd to his cave — the link was broken — 

he sobb'd and he wept, 
And cursed himself; then he yawn'd, for the wretch 

could sleep, and he slept 



THE BANDIT'S DEATH 53 

Ay, till dawn stole into the cave, and a ray red 

as blood 
Glanced on the strangled face — I could make Sleep 

Death, if I would — 

Glared on at the murder'd son, and the murderous 

father at rest, , . . 
I drove the blade that had slain my husband thrice 

thro' his breast. 

He was loved at least by his dog : it was chain'd, 

but its horrible yell 
'She has kill'd him, has kill'd him, has kill'd him' 

rang out all down thro' the dell, 

Till I felt I could end myself too with the dagger 
— so deafen'd and dazed — 



54 THE BANDIT'S DEATH 

Take it, and save me from it ! I fled. I was all 
but crazed 

With the grief that gnaw'd at my heart, and the 

weight that dragg'd at my hand ; 
But thanks to the Blessed Saints that I came on 

none of his band ; 

And the band will be scatter'd now their gallant 

captain is dead, 
For I with this dagger of his — do you doubt me? 

Here is his head 1 



THE CHURCH-WARDEN AND 
THE CURATE 



THE CHURCH-WARDEN AND THE 
CURATE 



This is written in the dialect which was current in my 
youth at Spilsby and in the country about it. 



I 

Eh ? good daay ! good daay ! thaw it bean't not 

mooch of a daay, 

Nasty, casselty weather ! an' mea haafe down wi' 

my haay ! 

57 



58 CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 



How be the farm gittin on? noaways. Gittin on 
i'deead ! 

Why, tonups was haafe on 'em fingers an' toas, an' 
the mare brokken-kneead, 

An' pigs didn't sell at fall, an' wa lost wer Hal- 
deny cow, 

An' it beats ma to knaw wot she died on, but wool's 
looking oop ony how. 



m 

An' soa they've maade tha a parson, an' thou'll git 

along, niver fear. 
Fur I beiin chuch-warden mysen i' the parish fur 

fifteen year. 



CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 59 

Well — sin ther bea chuch-wardens, ther mun be 

parsons an' all, 
An' if t'one stick alongside t'uther the chuch weant 

happen a fall. 



IV 

Fur I vvur a Baptis wonst, an' agean the toithe an' 

the raate, 
Till I fun that it warn't not the gaainist waay to 

the narra Gaate. 
An' I can't abear 'em, I can't, fur a lot on 'em 

coom'd ta-year — 
I wur down wi' the rheumatis then — to 7iry pond 

to wesh thessens theere — 
Sa I sticks like the ivin as long as I lives to the 

owd chuch now, 



6o CHURCH -WARDEN AND CURATE 

Fur they wesh'd their sins i' my pond, an' I doubts 
they poison'd the cow. 



Ay, an' ya seed the Bishop. They says 'at he 

coom'd fra nowt — 
Burn i' traade. Sa I warrants 'e niver said haafe 

wot 'e thowt, 
But 'e creeapt an' 'e crawl'd along, till 'e feeald 'e 

could howd 'is oan. 
Then 'e married a great Yerl's darter, an' sits o' 

the Bishop's throan. 

VI 

Now I'll gie tha a bit o' my mind an' tha weant 
be taakin' offence, 



church-wArden and curate 6i 

Fur thou be a big scholard now wi' a hoonderd 

haacre o' sense — 
But sich an obstropulous lad — naay, naay — fur I 

minds tha sa well, 
Tha'd niver not hopple thy tongue, an' the tongue's 

sit afire o' Hell, 
As I says to my missis to-daay, when she hurl'd a 

plaate at the cat 
An' anoother agean my noase. Ya was niver sa 

bad as that. 



vn 

But I minds when i' Howlaby beck won daay ya 

was ticklin' o' trout, 
An' keeiiper 'e seed ya an roon'd, an' 'e beal'd to 

ya ' Lad coom hout ' 



62 CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 

An' ya stood oop maakt i' the beck, an' ya tell'd 

'im to knaw his awn plaace 
An' ya call'd 'im a clown, ya did, an' ya thraw'd 

the fish i' 'is faace, 
An' 'e torn'd as red as a stag-tuckey's wattles, but 

theer an' then 
I coamb'd 'im down, fur I promised ya'd niver not 

do it agean. 



VIII 

An' I cotch'd tha wonst i' my garden, when thou 

was a height-year-howd, 
An' I fun thy pockets as full o' my pippins as iver 

they'd 'owd. 
An' thou was as pearky as owt, an' tha maade me 

as mad as mad, 



CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 63 

But I says to tha ' keeap 'em, an' welcome ' fur 
thou was the parson's lad. 



IX 

An' Parson 'e 'ears on it all, an' then taakes kindly 

to me. 
An' then I wur chose Chuch-warden an' coom'd 

to the top o' the tree. 
Fur Quoloty's hall my friends, an' they maakes ma 

a help to the poor, 
When I gits the plaate fuller o' Soondays nor ony 

chuch-warden afoor, 
Fur if iver thy feyther 'ed riled me I kep' mysen 

meeak as a lamb, 
An' saw by the Graace o' the Lord, Mr. Harry, I 

ham wot I ham. 



64 CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 

X 

But Parson 'e will speak out, saw, now 'e be sixty- 
seven, 
He'll niver swap Owlby an' Scratby fur owt but the 

Kingdom o' Heaven ; 
An' thou'U be 'is Curate 'ere, but, if iver tha means 

to git 'igher, 
Tha mun tackle the sins o' the Wo'ld, an' not the 

faults o' the Squire. 
An' I reckons tha'll light of a livin' somewheers i' 

the Wowd or the Fen, 
If tha cottons down to thy betters, an' keeaps thy- 

sen to thysen. 
But niver not speak plaain out, if tha wants to git 

forrards a bit, 
But creeap along the hedge-bottoms, an' thou'U be 

a Bishop yit. 



CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 65 

» 

XI 

Naay, but tha mun speak hout to the Baptises 

here i' the town, 
Fur moiist on 'em talks agean tithe, an' I'd like 

tha to preach 'em down. 
Fur ihefye been a-preachin' mea down, they have, 

an' I haates 'em now, 
Fur they leaved their nasty sins i' my pond, an' it 

poison'd the cow. 



GLOSSARY 

' Casselty,' casualty, chance weather. 

' Haafe down wi' my haiiy,' while my grass is only half- 
mown. 

' Fingers an' toas,' a disease in turnips. 

'Fall,' autumn. 

'If t'one stick alongside t'uther,' if the one hold by the 
other. One is pronounced like ' own.' 

' Fun,' found. 

'Gaainist,' nearest. 

*Ta-year,' this year. 

'Ivin,' ivy. 

' Obstropulous,' obstreperous — here the Curate makes a 
sign of deprecation. 

' Hopple ' or * hobble,' to tie the legs of a skittish cow 
when she is being milked. 

' Beal'd,' bellowed. 

In such words as ' torned,' ' turned,' ' hurled,' the r is hardly 
audible. 

' Stag-tuckcy,' turkey-cock. 

• Height-year-howd,' eight-year-old. 

* 'Owd,' hold. 

' Pearky,' pert. 

' Wo'ld,' the world. Short o. 

'Wowd,' wold. 
66 



CHARITY 



CHARITY 

I 

What am I doing, you say to me, 'wasting the 

sweet summer hours ' ? 
Haven't you eyes? I am dressing the grave of a 

woman with flowers. 

n 

For a woman ruin'd the world, as God's own 

scriptures tell, 

And a man ruin'd mine, but a woman, God bless 

her, kept me from Hell. 

69 



70 



CHARITY 



in 
Love me? O yes, no doubt — how long — till you 

threw me aside ! 
Dresses and laces and jewels and never a ring for 

the bride. 

IV 

All very well just now to be calling me darling and 

sweet, 
And after a while would it matter so much if I 

came on the street? 



You when I met you first — when he brought you ! 

— I turn'd away 
And the hard blue eyes have it still, that stare of 

a beast of prey. 



CHAHITY 71 



VI 



You were his friend — you — you — when he prom- 
ised to make me his bride, 

And you knew that he meant to betray me — you 
knew — you knew that he Hed. 

vn 

He married an heiress, an orphan with half a shire 

of estate, — 
I sent him a desolate wail and a curse, when I 

learn'd my fate. 

vm 

For I used to play with the knife, creep down to 
the river-shore, 

Moan to myself ' one plunge — then quiet for ever- 
more.' 



72 CHARITY 

DC 

Would the man have a touch of remorse when he 

heard what an end was mine? 
Or brag to his fellow rakes of his conquest over 

their wine? 



Money — my hire — his money — I sent him back 

what he gave, — 
Will you move a httle that way? your shadow falls 

on the grave. 

XI 

Two trains clash'd : then and there he was crush'd 

in a moment and died, 
But the new-wedded wife was unharm'd, tho' sitting 

close at his side. 



CHARITY 73 

xn 

She found my letter upon him, my wail of reproach 

and scorn; 
I had cursed the woman he married, and him, and 

the day I was bom. 

xm 
They put him aside for ever, and after a week — no 

more — 
A stranger as welcome as Satan — a widow came to 

my door : 

XIV 

So I turn'd my face to the wall, I was mad, I was 

raving-wild, 
T was close on that hour of dishonour, the birth of 

a basebom child. 



74 CHARITY 

XV 

you that can flatter your victims, and juggle, and 

lie and cajole, 
Man, can you even guess at the love of a soul for 
a soul? 

XVI 

1 had cursed her as woman and wife, and in wife 

and woman I found 
The tenderest Christ-like creature that ever stept 
on the ground. 

xvn 

She watch'd me, she nursed me, she fed me, she 

sat day and night by my bed. 
Till the joyless birthday came of a boy born happily 

dead. 



CHARITY 75 

xvni 
And her name? what was it? I ask'd her. She 

said with a sudden glow 
On her patient face ' My dear, I will tell you before 

I go.' 

XK 

And I when I learnt it at last, I shriek'd, I sprang 

from my seat, 
I wept, and I kiss'd her hands, I flung myself down 

at her feet, 

XX 

And we pray'd together for him, for hhn who had 

given her the name. 
She has left me enough to live on. I need no 

wages of shame. 



76 CHARITY 

XXI 

She died of a fever caught when a nurse in a hos- 
pital ward. 

She is high in the Heaven of Heavens, she is face 
to face with her Lord, 

xxn 

And He sees not her Uke anywhere in this pitiless 

world of ours ! 
I have told you my tale. Get you gone. I am 

dressing her grave with flowers. 



KAPIOLANI 

Kapiolani was a great chieftainess who lived in the 
Sandwich Islands at the beginning of this century. 
She won the cause of Christianity by openly defying the 
priests of the terrible goddess Peele. In spite of their 
threats of vengeance she ascended the volcano Mauna- 
Loa, then clambered down over a bank of cinders 400 
feet high to the great lake of fire (nine miles round) 
— Kilauea — the home and haunt of the goddess, and 
flung into the boiling lava the consecrated berries which 
it was sacrilege for a woman to handle. 



I 

When from the terrors of Nature a people have 
fashion'd and worship a Spirit of Evil, 

Blest be the Voice of the Teacher who calls to 

them 

'Set yourselves free!' 

77 



78 KAPIOLANI 

n 

Noble the Saxon who hurl'd at his Idol a valorous 

weapon in olden England ! 
Great and greater, and greatest of women, island 

heroine, Kapiolani 
Clomb the mountain, and flung the berries, and 

dared the Goddess, and freed the people 
Of Hawa-i-ee ! 

m 

A people believing that Peel^ the Goddess would 

wallow in fiery riot and revel 
On Kilauea, 
Dance in a fountain of flame with her devils, or 

shake with her thunders and shatter her 

island, 
Rolling her anger 



KAPIOLANI 79 

Thro' blasted valley and flaring forest in blood-red 
cataracts down to the sea ! 

IV 

Long as the lava-light 
Glares from the lava-lake 
Dazing the starlight, 
Long as the silvery vapour in daylight 
Over the mountain 

Floats, will the glory of Kapiolani be mingled with 
either on Hawa-i-ee. 

V 

What said her Priesthood? 

'Woe to this island if ever a woman should handle 

or gather the berries of Peele ! 
Accursed were she ! 



8o KAPIOLANI 

And woe to this island if ever a woman should 

climb to the dwelling of Peele the Goddess ! 
Accursed were she ! ' 

VI 

One from the Sunrise 

Dawn'd on His people, and slowly before him 

Vanish'd shadow-like 

Gods and Goddesses, 

None but the terrible Peel6 remaining as Kapiolani 

ascended her mountain. 
Baffled her priesthood, 
Broke the Taboo, 
Dipt to the crater, 
Call'd on the Power adored by the Christian, and 

crying ' I dare her, let Peele avenge herself ! ' 
Into the flame-billow dash'd the berries, and drove 

the demon from Hawa-i-ee. 



THE DAWN 

"You are but children." 

Egyptian Priest to Solon. 

I 

Red of the Dawn ! 

Screams of a babe in the red-hot palms of a 

Moloch of Tyre, 

Man with his brotherless dinner on man in the 

tropical wood, 

Priests in the name of the Lord passing souls 

thro' fire to the fire. 

Head-hunters and boats of Dahomey that float 

upon human blood ! 

8x 



82 THE DAWN 



Red of the Dawn ! 
Godless fury of peoples, and Christless frolic of 
kings, 
And the bolt of war dashing down upon cities 

and blazing farms, 
For Babylon was a child new-born, and Rome 
was a babe in arms, 
And London and Paris and all the rest are as yet 
but in leading-strings. 



m 

Dawn not Day, 
While scandal is mouthing a bloodless name at her 
cannibal feast. 



THp. DAWN 83 

And rake-ruin'd bodies and souls go down in a 

common wreck, 
And the Press of a thousand cities is prized for 

it smells of the beast, 
Or easily violates virgin Truth for a coin or a 

cheque. 

IV 

Dawn not Day ! 
Is it Shame, so few should have climb'd from the 
dens in the level below, 
Men, with a heart and a soul, no slaves of a 

four-footed will? 
But if twenty million of summers are stored in 
the sunlight still, 
We are far from the noon of man, there is time 
for the race to grow. 



84 THE DAWN 



Red of the Dawn ! 
Is it turning a fainter red? so be it, but when shall 
we lay 
The Ghost of the Brute that is walking and haunt- 

ing us yet, and be free? 
In a hundred, a thousand winters? Ah, what 
will our children be, 
The men of a hundred thousand, a million summers 
away? 



THE MAKING OF MAN 

Where is one that, bom of woman, altogether can 
escape 

From the lower world within him, moods of tiger, 
or of ape? 
Man as yet is being made, and ere the crown- 
ing Age of ages, 

Shall not aeon after aeon pass and touch him into 
shape ? 

All about him shadow still, but, while the races 

flower and fade, 

85 



86 THE MAKING OF MAN 

Prophet-eyes may catch a glory slowly gaining on 

the shade, 
Till the peoples all are one, and all their voices 

blend in choric 
Hallelujah to the Maker 'It is finish'd. Man is 

made.' 



THE DREAMER 

On a midnight in midwinter when all but the 

winds were dead, 
' The meek shall inherit the earth ' was a Scripture 

that rang thro' his head, 
Till he dream'd that a Voice of the Earth went 

wailingly past him and said : 

' I am losing the light of my Youth 

And the Vision that led me of old, 

And I clash with an iron Truth, 

When I make for an Age of gold, 

And I would that my race were run. 

For teeming with liars, and madmen, and 

knaves, 

87 



88 THE DREAMER 

And wearied of Autocrats, Anarchs, and 

Slaves, 
And darken'd with doubts of a Faith that 

saves, 
And crimson with battles, and hollow with 

graves, 
To the wail of my winds, and the moan of 

my waves 
I whirl, and I follow the Sun.' 

Was it only the wind of the Night shrilling out 

Desolation and wrong 
Thro' a dream of the dark? Yet he thought that 

he answer'd her wail with a song — 

Moaning your losses, O Earth, 
Heart-weary and overdone ! 



THE DREAMER 89 

But all's well that ends well, 
Whirl, and follow the Sun ! 

He is racing from heaven to heaven 
And less will be lost* than won, 

For all's well that ends well. 
Whirl, and follow the Sun ! 

The Reign of the Meek upon earth, 

O weary one, has it begun? 
But all's well that ends well. 

Whirl, and follow the Sun ! 

For moans will have grown sphere-music 

Or ever your race be run ! 
And all's well that ends well, 

Whirl, and follow the Sun ! 



MECHANOPHILUS 
(In the time of the first railways) 

Now first we stand and understand, 

And sunder false from true, 
And handle boldly with the hand, 

And see and shape and do. 

Dash back that ocean with a pier, 

Strovv yonder mountain flat, 
A railway there, a tunnel here. 

Mix me this Zone with that ! 

Bring me my horse — my horse? my wings 

That I may soar the sky, 
90 



MECHANOPHILUS 91 

For Thought into the outward springs, 
I find her with the eye. 

O will she, nioonlike, sway the main, 

And bring or chase the storm, 
Who was a shadow in the brain, 

And is a living form? 

Far as the Future vaults her skies, 

From this my vantage ground 
To those still-working energies 

I spy nor term nor bound. 

As we surpass our fathers' skill. 
Our sons will shame our own ; 

A thousand things are hidden still 
And not a hundred known. 



92 MECHANOPHILUS 

And had some prophet spoken true 

Of all we shall achieve, 
The wonders were so wildly new 

That no man would believe. 

Meanwhile, my brothers, work, and wield 

The forces of to-day, 
And plow the Present like a field, 

And garner all you may ! 

You, what the cultured surface grows. 
Dispense with careful hands : 

Deep under deep for ever goes, 
Heaven over heaven expands. 



RIFLEMEN FORM! 

There is a sound of thunder afar, 

Storm in the South that darkens the day ! 

Storm of battle and thunder of war ! 

Well if it do not roll our way. 

Storm, Storm, Riflemen form ! 

Ready, be ready against the storm ! 

Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! 

Be not deaf to the sound that warns. 

Be not gull'd by a despot's plea ! 

Are figs of thistles? or grapes of thorns? 

How can a despot feel with the Free? 

93 



94 RIFLEMEN FORM 

Form, Form, Riflemen Form ! 
Ready, be ready to meet the storm ! 
Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! 

Let your reforms for a moment go ! 

Look to your butts, and take good aims ! 

Better a rotten borough or so 

Than a rotten fleet and a city in flames ! 

Storm, Storm, Riflemen form ! 

Ready, be ready against the storm ! 

Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! 

Form, be ready to do or die ! 
Form in Freedom's name and the Queen's ! 
True we have got — such a faithful ally 
That only the Devil can tell vi^hat he means. 



RIFLEMEN FORM 95 

Form, Form, Riflemen Form ! 
Ready, be ready to meet the storm ! 
Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! ^ 

^ I have been asked to republish this old poem, which was 
first published in 'The Times,' May 9, 1859, before the Volun- 
teer movement began. 



THE TOURNEY 

Ralph would fight in Edith's sight, 

For Ralph was Edith's lover, 
Ralph went down like a fire to the fight, 
Struck to the left and struck to the right, 

Roll'd them over and over. 
* Gallant Sir Ralph,' said the king. 

Casques were crack'd and hauberks hack'd, 

Lances snapt in sunder. 
Rang the stroke, and sprang the blood. 
Knights were thwack'd and riven, and hew'd 

Like broad oaks with thunder. 

' O what an arm,' said the king. 
96 



THE TOURNEY 97 

Edith bow'd her stately head, 

Saw them He confounded, 
Edith Montfort bow'd her head, 
Crown'd her knight's, and flush'd as red 

As poppies when she crown'd it. 
'Take her Sir Ralph,' said the king. 



THE BEE AND THE FLOWER 

The bee buzz'd up in the heat, 
* I am faint for your honey, my sweet.' 
The flower said ' Take it my dear. 
For now is the spring of the year. 
So come, come ! ' 
* Hum ! ' 
And the bee buzz'd down from the heat. 

And the bee buzz'd up in the cold 

When the flower was wither'd and old. 
98 



THE BEE AND THE FLOWER 99 

'Have you still any honey, my dear?' 
She said * It's the fall of the year, 
But come, come ! ' 
* Hum ! ' 
And the bee buzz'd off in the cold. 



THE WANDERER 

The gleam of household sunshine ends, 
And here no longer can I rest; 
Farewell ! — You will not speak, my friends, 
Unfriendly of your parted guest. 

O well for him that finds a friend, 
Or makes a friend where'er he come, 
And loves the world from end to end. 
And wanders on from home to home ! 

lOO 



THE WANDERER loi 

happy he, and fit to live, 

On whom a happy home has power 
To make him trust his hfe, and give 
His fealty to the halcyon hour ! 

1 count you kind, I hold you true ; 
But what may follow who can tell? 
Give me a hand — and you — and you — 
And deem me grateful, and farewell ! 



POETS AND CRITICS 

This thing, that thing is the rage, 
Helter-skelter runs the age ; 
Minds on this round earth of ours 
Vary like the leaves and flowers, 

Fashion'd after certain laws; 
Sing thou low or loud or sweet, 
All at all points thou canst not meet, 

Some will pass and some will pause. 

What is true at last will tell : 
Few at first will place thee well; 

I02 



POETS AND CRITICS 103 

Some too low would have thee shine, 
Some too high — no fault of thine — 

Hold thine own, and work thy will ! 
Year will graze the heel of year. 
But seldom comes the poet here, 

And the Critic's rarer still. 



A VOICE SPAKE OUT OF THE SKIES 

A Voice spake out of the skies 
To a just man and a wise — 
'The world and all within it 
Will only last a minute ! ' 
And a beggar began to cry 
' Food, food or I die ' ! 
Is it worth his while to eat, 
Or mine to give him meat. 
If the world and all within it 
Were nothing the next minute? 

104 



DOUBT AND PRAYER 

Tho' Sin too oft, when smitten by Thy rod, 

Rail at ' BUnd Fate ' with many a vain ' Alas ! ' 

From sin thro' sorrow into Thee we pass 

By that same path our true forefathers trod ; 

And let not Reason fail me, nor the sod 

Draw from my death Thy living flower and grass, 

Before I learn that Love, which is, and was 

My Father, and my Brother, and my God ! 

105 



io6 DOUBT AND PRAYER 

Steel me with patience! soften me with grief! 
Let blow the trumpet strongly while I pray, 
Till this embattled wall of unbelief 
My prison, not my fortress, fall away ! 
Then, if thou wiliest, let my day be brief. 
So Thou wilt strike Thy glory thro' the day. 



FAITH 



Doubt no longer that the Highest is the wisest 

and the best, 
Let rot all that saddens Nature blight thy hope or 

break thy rest, 
Quail not at the fiery mountain, at the shipwreck, 

or the rolling 
Thunder, or the rending earthquake, or the famine, 

or the pest ! 



io8 FAITH 

n 

Neither mourn if human creeds be lower than the 

heart's desire ! 
Thro' the gates that bar the distance comes a gleam 

of what is higher. 
Wait till Death has flung them open, when the 

man will make the Maker 
Dark no more with human hatreds in the glare of 

deathless fire ! 



THE SILENT VOICES* 

When the dumb Hour, clothed in black, 

Brings the Dreams about my bed, 

Call me not so often back, 

Silent Voices of the dead, 

Toward the lowland ways behind me, 

And the sunlight that is gone ! 

Call me rather, silent voices, 

Fonvard to the starry track 

Glimmering up the heights beyond me 

On, and always on ! 

• Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co. 



109 



GOD AND THE UNIVERSE 



Will my tiny spark of being wholly vanish in your 

deeps and heights? 
Must my day be dark by reason, O ye Heavens, 

of your boundless nights, 
Rush of Suns, and roll of systems, and your fiery 

clash of meteorites? 



'Spirit, nearing yon dark portal at the limit of thy 



human state, 
no 



GOD AND. THE UNIVERSE ni 

Fear not thou the hidden purpose of that Power 

which alone is great, 
Nor the myriad world, His shadow, nor the silent 

Opener of the Gate.' 



THE DEATH 

OF THE 

DUKE OF CLARENCE AND AVONDALE 

So t^e p:onrntrs. 

The bridal garland falls upon the bier, 
The shadow of a crown, that o'er him hung, 
Has vanish'd in the shadow cast by Death. 

So princely, tender, truthful, reverent, pure — 
Mourn ! That a world-wide Empire mourns with 
you, 

112 



DEATH OF THE DUKE OF CLARENCE 113 
That all the Thrones are clouded by your loss, 
Were slender solace. Yet be comforted; 
For if this earth be ruled by Perfect Love, 
Then, after his brief range of blameless days, 
The toll of funeral in an Angel ear 
Sounds happier than the merriest marriage-bell. 
The face of Death is toward the Sun of Life, 
His shadow darkens earth : his truer name 
Is 'Onward,' no discordance in the roll 
And march of that Eternal Harmony 
Whereto the worlds beat time, tho' faintly heard 
Until the great Hereafter. Mourn in hope ! 



THE END 



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